


Steady as Stone

by amorekay



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dwarf Culture & Customs, Family, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorekay/pseuds/amorekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of worldbuilding ficlets centered around the dwarves' lives and culture.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Bifur had been no older, sitting in Buri’s dusky workshop and watching her breathe life into pieces of metal and working joints. She had taught him the careful way of the craft. She hadn’t needed to teach him the love of it, as he’d been made with it warm in his heart. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady as Stone

**Author's Note:**

> (Very) pre-The Hobbit timeline Bifur and his little cousins because a) I love them and b) I have a lot of thoughts about dwarves having cultural concepts about each being made with love for a craft and this being an important and significant thing for one to find.

His two youngest cousins, the ever-talking Bofur and his shadow Bombur, have followed him to his work today. Bombur is still barely old enough to be let out with only Bofur to watch him, but the mines are always busy and the work long, so the miners’ children have always run in packs with their own. Bifur had been no older, sitting in Buri’s dusky workshop and watching her breathe life into pieces of metal and working joints. She had taught him the careful way of the craft. She hadn’t needed to teach him the love of it, as he’d been made with it warm in his heart. 

The work is meditative, only broken by a small voice piping up, “Is that a messenger bird?” Bifur looks down, surprised, as little redheaded Bombur clambers up into his lap for a closer look. He touches a dimpled hand to the seam of the metal back. “Amad said they don’t come ‘round here much. Will it fly?” Bofur pulls himself onto a stool nearby, his elbows on the table and hands tucked under his chin as he stares.

Bifur nods and then twists the first wing into place, picking up his tool to etch the edges until, eventually, feathers will start to take depth against the metal. Bofur and Bombur both look on, solemnly, as he starts to explain, and Bombur wiggles until he’s comfortable and then pipes up with questions until they’re called away at midday’s break. 

They come often after that, Bofur uncharacteristically silent in concentration and Bombur uncharacteristically talkative with curiosity. Bifur teaches, the same way he was once taught, and whittles them simpler toys with bone and wood left over from the hunts. When he leaves to sell his wares to the towns of Men, and then longer to travel and hunt, Bofur tugs at his hands and tells him to bring back stories and Bombur cries. He thinks to leave a whittling knife behind once, and when he comes back there’s rough bears and boars carved from wood scattered across his tabletop, and a mop of red hair in the corner under the window. 

Bifur crouches by Bombur and puts a hand on his head, moving slow to be careful not to startle him. “Cousin,” he says, “What’s wrong?” Bombur sniffles and climbs into his lap. He’s grown since Bifur was last home, and he barely fits anymore – bad weather and sparse game had kept Bifur away longer than he expected. “Bofur’s big enough to work in the mines now,” he replies.

Bofur is still young, but they need every available body in the mines, and the family needs the coin besides. His mother’s younger sister and her husband aren’t any better off than he is, and their children eat as much as any healthy dwarf will, and want for more. Injuries in the mine are rare now, but Bombur’s old enough to know the risks. Bifur gives him a squeeze. “Our community is strong,” he says. “Your brother and your parents have the strength and safety of every Dwarf who works side by side with them, and all of them will keep an eye on Bofur.” 

He hums the first verse of a miner’s tune, the one solid as stone and just as proud, and Bombur pats his knee along to the familiar rhythm. They belong to the stone, and there’s no reason to fear it. He wonders, then, if Bombur will find the love of craft elsewhere – Bifur had hoped, but as much as he’s curious about toymaking, Bombur’s heart doesn’t seem to call for it the same way Bifur’s does. “Help me unpack,” Bifur says, nodding to himself, “you can stay here until you’re needed elsewhere.”

Bombur clambers up and then pats at his sleeve, a smile on his face again. “I made you a boar,” he says. “Bofur made one too, but he brought it home to show it off.” He picks it up from the table and deposits it in Bifur’s waiting hand, and then stands back to look at his traveling bags. 

“Did you bring meat home?” Bombur’s face turns dreamy as he adds, shyly, “they promised to help me learn to cook it if you did.”

Bifur smiles and listens to his cousin talk with all the delight of new love.


End file.
